


Hyperion

by Noscere



Series: Titans (RWBY) [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, F/M, Here comes plot!, Holding the Line, Invasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noscere/pseuds/Noscere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fight for their lives: a maiden, a goddess, a wizard, a priest, and a knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hold the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Hyperion: Lord of Light, the Pillar of the South. He who watches from above. He who was cast into Tartarus by the Gods, only to lead the insurrection of the Gigantes against Olympus.
> 
> (Watch the World of Remnant: Maidens. Trust me. The story makes more sense that way.)

Heat bleeds through her gloves, as Milo fires again and again: but for every Grimm she brings down, another takes its place.

Ten students guard the ballroom, the last line of defense for the civilians and wounded inside the school. The rest are outside the school, battling larger Grimm that could trample Beacon’s towers if left alive.

They have fought long since sunrise. Already, twenty of their fellow Huntresses and Huntsmen have fallen into that long sleep: guts oozing from various wounds, blood seeping into the cement, mouths wide in a soundless scream.

Pyrrha loads Milo, and prays with all her heart that Jaune won’t be next.

“Incoming!” Yatsuhashi says from his post at the door.

Jaune runs in, a bloodied Huntress with no face slung over his shoulders.

“Need some help here!” he says, and ducks under his shield. 

An Ursa’s paw slams onto the toughened metal, barely missing the injured woman. Jaune plants his foot, and shoves hard against his shield. The Ursa’s paw slides to the ground: Jaune bolts for the hallway once more.

Pyrrha fires. The bullet pierces the Grimm’s faceplate, straight into the brain. It stumbles. She races forward, Milo shifting into spear form, and stabs down.

“On my left!” Yatsuhashi swings his massive sword, cleaving a Creep in two, but one more gets past him and heads straight for Jaune.

Her partner’s almost at the door. She can’t let the Grimm get past: all the civilians are hiding inside, all their wounded comrades, and Nora… the surgeon needs just a few more minutes, she has to buy her teammate more time!

Pyrrha flings Akouo out. Claws meet the steel, skidding down polished metal, racing towards her exposed thighs. She flips into the air. The claws race off her shield and embed themselves in the tiled floor.

The Creep roars at her, exposing a vulnerable throat. Milo shifts into xiphos form. She slashes. Black blood paints the nearby window frame, the glass long since shattered.

“Thank you!” Jaune calls as he disappears into the hallway.

“You’re welcome!” she replies.

 

A scream pierces the air, dying off into a bloodless gargle. Pyrrha grits her teeth: yet another one of her fellow Huntresses and Huntsmen downed by these foul beasts. Nora is already clinging to life in the hospital wing. She can’t – she won’t let it be the end of her comrades.

Amber stirs inside her soul, then springs forth like a rattlesnake after its prey. She has seen battles like this before, though never inside Beacon. The defenders are tiring as Grimm after Grimm break into the ballroom, hunting the scared students within. The defenders outside aren’t doing much better: their orderly lines have fragmented as packs of Grimm surround the wearied students.

“Fight back!” Pyrrha cries. “This is our home! They won’t take it from us!”

Power soars through the room and out the windows – not Pyrrha’s, not Amber’s, but that of the Fall Maiden. Like a gale sweeping away fallen leaves, some magic seeps into the defenders of Beacon. It washes away wounds, soothes tired limbs like a nap beneath towering oaks and blue skies.

For a second, Pyrrha feels the hope swelling inside the Huntsmen and Huntresses. They can do this. With a Maiden at their side, who can bring them down?

Pyrrha lifts an arm encased in black Auric energy and wrenches the window frames from the wall. Metal groans, as the Huntress fashions them into foot long spikes. With a flick of her hand, the spikes fly out the window and impale a pack of Beowolves.

“I owe you one!” Sun calls from the distance. 

Pyrrha drags herself from the recesses of her soul, still basked in the Maiden’s power, just in time to dodge a fellow classmate’s mace.

 

Cardin stumbles forward, eyes blank like a freshly cleaned blackboard, face bloodless like a porcelain doll. His steel armor oozes, yellowy pus laced with black streaks dripping from every seam.

The Huntsman lunges, mace sweeping towards Pyrrha’s neck. Pyrrha jumps back on instinct. 

“Cardin? Snap out of it! We’re on the same side!” she says, meeting another blow with Akouo. “We’re Huntsmen!”

Cardin mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “ _can’t fight it…_ ”

Pyrrha frowns. "Yes, you can!" she says with conviction poisoned by doubt. "Cardin! We need to protect Beacon!" Aura encases Pyrrha’s hands. She tugs on his mace, summoning it towards Milo.

Cardin stumbles forward, dragged by his weapon.

Akouo comes up and bashes Cardin in the face. The mace clatters to the ground.

“I’m sorry.” Pyrrha reaches forward to grab his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

The Huntsman stares and her, then dry heaves. He collapses to his knees.

The pus dripping from his form turns jet black. It crawls up his body, like some monstrous maggot. Pyrrha grabs the shaft of her spear and swipes at the Huntsman, knocking a bucket full of pus off his torso. It’s no use: the boy screams, clutching his midsection.

_Crack!_

Cardin’s legs snap off. Pyrrha can only stare in horror as they melt into more of the black pus. Higher and higher, the corruption climbs, claiming more and more of the boy’s flesh. The Huntsman’s skin peels and cracks, revealing patches of white bone.

“Help me…” Cardin says, before the bone mask of a Beowolf bursts out of his face and his voice deepens to a monstrous roar.

The newly formed Grimm swiped at Pyrrha. Two claws scythed through Pyrrha’s cuirass, biting into the warrior’s skin. Adrenaline surges through her body. Pyrrha brings Milo high into the air, switching into spear form, and jabs down at the newly formed Grimm.

The tip enters the Grimm’s skull and exits out its chin. 

“HELP ME!” it screams, before melting into black slush.

Pyrrha stares at what remains of her former classmate.

Snatches of Amber’s thoughts suddenly drift over to Pyrrha. Pain crackles through her back, as if flames were roasting her skin – _I can’t move,_ a disembodied voice cries, _I don’t want to die_ – and the ache spreads over her limbs.

 

The warrior's hands are sweat-slicked beneath her gloves. She shudders and wraps her fingers around Milo. The familiar weight of her xiphos grounds her: she is still Pyrrha Nikos. She still breathes and moves, not trapped in a stasis tube deep below ground. She may be the Maiden now, with not a single clue on how to control her powers, but she is Pyrrha Nikos.

She takes a deep breath and evaluates the situation. 

The students of the ballroom have redoubled their efforts to push the Grimm out – it’s the fighters outside who are still in trouble. Pyrrha switches Milo back into xiphos form, aims out the window, and pulls the trigger.

A Boarbatusk, seconds away from goring a pink-haired girl, falls to its knees. The girl recovers: she zips over to her foe, snaps out her glow sticks, and bashes the beast’s head in.

“For Flint, loser!” she screams, and zips away.

“Pyrrha.”

She blinks and focuses on the man beside her. Jaune looks older already, despite the fight starting six hours ago. A ragged gash carves its way down his cheek, revealing the teeth beneath. His breastplate is scored and burned in several places. The playful light in his eyes has died, replaced by steel and sorrow.

He plants Crocea Mors in the broken tiles littering the ballroom, leaning heavily against his sword.

“Where are we needed?”

Jaune wipes the blood from his cheek, and holds up a vial of Fire Dust. “Right here, guarding the school. White Fang’s got some new tricks.”

He dumps the Dust onto the remains. Red crystals ignite, licking up the sludge. The Grimm slowly burns into nothingness.

“That was Cardin…” Pyrrha murmurs, hugging herself. Contamination seems to cling to her body, as if watching the transformation tainted her flesh. She wants to take a million showers and scrub herself clean.

Jaune slings an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah… It’s tough out there…”

She allows herself a minute of weakness. Heat bleeds through his armor: sweat slipping against sweat, Aura singing to her own. He is a beacon amongst the voids that storm Beacon, a flame to ward off the Grimm’s darkness.

“H-hey. Don’t worry. We’ve got each other. We’re going to make it through.” His voice quavers, but he stares her down. Jaune’s blue eyes never fail to make her heart quiver, and today is no exception. In him, she sees a future, shining bright for both of them.

Pyrrha shakes her head. She can contemplate her crush when they’re not in mortal danger.

“You’re right. I’ve got your back.” She reloads Milo. “Any other news?”

“Civilians will evacuate soon. Airships’ll be here in twenty.” Jaune slams his fists together. “After that, we’re free to give these Grimm hell.”

“Jaune, are you suggesting we Arkos them?”

Jaune scratches his head, and for a minute, she sees the gawky boy underneath the leader.

“We-lllll… I can’t exactly use Magnhild, can I?”

Sirens blare outside.

“GET BACK TO THE SCHOOL! FALL BACK!” Blake bursts through the doors. “We can’t hold them much longer!”

Jaune readies his sword. “We’ll be ready.”

She makes to answer, but fire consumes her soul. Amber leaps forward, pushing Pyrrha out of the way.

“ _Help me!_ ” Amber screams.


	2. Beauty in Decay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped deep below Beacon, a battle between ancients begins.

“ _There is no need. The capsule will not yield._ ”

The flames surrounding her prison abates. She draws a deep breath: the air burns, like shards of glass shoved into her lungs. She tries to move, get up, but to no avail. Her back is hot and chafed against some sort of backboard. She floats in the tube, held aloft by some force.

“You again, old man… how is Old Man Time working out for you?”

Something clacks against the floor. The sound reverberates around the room, echoing weirdly.

Amber takes a deep breath. _I’m in the chamber… is that Professor Ozpin?_ She longs to call out to him, but something soft and phlegmy blocks her throat.

“Hello, Cinder.” The Headmaster sounds drained. “Or should I say, Fall?”

There’s a rich purr of laughter, one that sends rage rippling through Amber’s soul. She struggles to open her eyes. Once open, she’ll burn the woman’s image into her mind lest she ever forget. _That’s her? That’s the person who tried to kill me?_

“You’ve made more mistakes than any man, woman or child alive,” Cinder says as Amber, bolstered by Pyrrha’s soul, opens her eyes. The witch draws twin swords, as black as a Grimm’s pelt. “Is this just another one?”

Ozpin points his cane at the capsule. “Power is meant to be shared, to be used to better lives. It is earned.” He points it at Cinder. “Not stolen.”

“You mistake me. I’m not just taking back what is mine.” Glyphs swirl around Cinder’s legs. “This hunger… do you know what it’s done to me? Do you know what it’s done to them? I can hear them all… so hungry… so angry… so many dying…”

“I’ve heard enough. You’ll harm no more of my students.”

Ozpin flicks his cane, and the air in Amber’s lungs – or is it Pyrrha’s, watching from afar? – turns to jelly. He reaches out, hand turning an imaginary dial.

Perhaps it is the Maiden in Cinder that allows Amber to feel the Headmaster’s wrath. Flesh weakens. It becomes harder to breathe. Skin droops. Her heart beats laboriously, an injured bird trapped in a bone cage. Age takes its toll, as the Headmaster speeds up time for Cinder alone.

Cinder keeps walking, though her body withers. The Maiden’s power surges forth, combatting the flow of time. One second, she appears as a teenager; the next, a withered crone; two more seconds, and her hips are full and her hands tender like a mother’s.

“In the end, you’re just an old man, hiding behind a curtain.”

Sword meets cane. Ozpin struggles to hold back Cinder’s blow.

“Your students. Are you never satisfied? Do you truly need more puppets on your strings?”

Ozpin grabs her shoulder. Amber feels a strange stuttering, as if a clock’s hand was inching to midnight. A glowing red-black portal appears on Cinder’s hand. From its depths, an insectoid Grimm pops out. It casts a golden web that glues itself to the Headmaster’s face.

Amber’s stomach does backflips. Cinder is once again holding Ozpin in a blade lock – only this time, Ozpin has a silvery blade in his right, and the black cane in his left. The insectoid Grimm has disappeared.

“Interesting. I should have seen that before.” Cinder smiles, and slides the back of her arm along the length of her blade. Blood drips down her left arm. “You were always one for tricks, old man." 

Both Pyrrha and Amber restrain a shudder.

“I may be far less powerful than before, Cinder.” Ozpin’s eyes narrow to slits. “But this is unacceptable. I cannot allow this.” 

“Did you say that to the other Maidens, as they fell to warlords’ wants?” The blood trickling along her arm blackens and begins to froth. “Is that what Old Man Time said to you, as his spirit consumed your soul?”

Ozpin is quiet.

“I’ve heard them… oh, how I’ve listened. Those poor, tortured souls, trapped on Earth by baseless legends. Twisted, corrupted beyond all recognition… who could recognize a god today?” Cinder smiles. “What they wouldn’t do to be human again. Of course, how could you understand? First, you made the Maidens. Then you made these academies to destroy the Grimm.”

Metal sings along metal as he swipes at her legs with one sword and aims for her head with his cane. Cinder raises her hands, glowing with swirling glyphs. Lightning fills the underground tomb, whiting out Amber’s vision. 

When the world reappears, Ozpin lies sprawled against the far wall. After a few seconds that feel like years, the old Headmaster slowly straightens and takes both his weapons into hand.

“The people of this world deserved a chance. I may not agree with my predecessor, but I believe he did the right thing. The living deserve their free will.” 

Time ticks forward once again, slipping around Amber’s limbs as if she were caught in a burbling brook. Ozpin surges forward, limbs blurring as he strikes over and over, but Cinder meets his every strike with contemptuous ease.

Amber breathes easy once more, as the assault abates. She can see Ozpin’s knuckles, white on his cane like frost settling on withered branches. He staggers forward, like a man drowning on dry land.

Cinder merely watches him. “The high and mighty Headmaster, reduced to this?” Her knives disappear into black dust, only to reappear as a twisted black bow. “Is this why you hide in your tower? You preach protection and safety, but if one takes away your witch…”

Time is hummingbird-flitter quick once again: it is only the Maiden within Amber and Cinder that allows Pyrrha to watch in gory motion, as Cinder’s blade slices across the Headmaster’s collarbones.

“Go on,” Cinder says softly. “Run back to your students. Tell them it’ll all be fine. Lie to them. Tell them the Grimm will devour them, that there is safety in the kingdoms. Tell them that all are equal in life. Lie to them.”

Ozpin grits his teeth. He plants his cane into the floor.

“That is enough.”

Cinder tsks and strides towards the capsule. She places a hand encased in a glove of glyphs on the glass. “No matter. If you won’t let me have some of this… I suppose I’ll just keep you alive while I take _that._ ”

Ancient sigils pop onto Cinder’s skin. The black bubbling froth on her arms easily melts through the glass. She places a hand on Amber’s skin – Pyrrha tries to scream, and Amber’s distress ripples through the body – if Autumn feels of mushrooms and the rebirth of life on death, Cinder tastes of corruption. She is dead deer rotting beneath fetid bogs, scores of land laid bare by fire and volcanic ash, and the last rays of the sun fading into the long bleakness of winter.

“Hmm… empty…”

The woman’s lips quirk.

“So he has done it…” She turns to look at the fallen headmaster. “Hmm… his power is waning… it seems ripe for harvest…”

A maniacal grin splits Cinder’s face.

“Then I suppose there’s no more need for this body.”

Her hands glow that deep red-black. This time, a Tyrant lunges from the portal – a monstrous beast whose foot-long teeth fill up the viewing panel until all Pyrrha and Amber see is a slobbering maw –

The glass shatters.

Teeth scythe through Amber’s body – chunks of gore plaster the beast’s mouth – Pyrrha’s not quite sure who’s screaming, but the pain is all-consuming as bones crunch and tendons tear – the beast withdraws, a noose of intestine hanging from its jaws –

Over the din of destruction, the two souls barely hear Cinder.

“ _How tiring. I’ll have to find the guardian now._ ”


	3. Autumn's Embrace

“Pyrrha?”

Jaune’s hands are on her shoulders, firm warmth bleeding through the chill.

Spots dance before her eyes as Pyrrha is thrust back into her body. But unlike the first transfer process, every drop of Amber’s soul has leaked into her body.

Pyrrha presses a shaky hand to her chest. Alive and whole. She lives.

Amber stirs. Grimm taint lingers on the ice-edges of the former Fall Maiden’s soul. An odd numbness permeates the two souls, as if they had seen Death, his scythe raised for a reaping. Amber turns over and over, sending tendrils of thought towards limbs that no longer her own.

A storm arises inside Pyrrha, as the two souls battle for control. She feels no anger or ill wishes in the other Maiden – no, there is only shock and confusion. The terror, the pain – those will come later.

Metal-plated arms press against her midsection. Moist breath and tepid rain, more suited to spring than fall, condense down her neck.

She turns. Jaune is hugging her close, face pressed into the crook of her neck. The two sit in a doorway – Pyrrha blinks. It’s the classroom where she first kissed him.

“Jaune?”

“Pyrrha…” His hold tightens. “You were gone for so long…”

“I’m sorry. I’m… back?” she says, but that doesn’t quite cover it. She quietly promises to fill him in once the battle is over. Her partner deserves that much. “Help me up.”

Jaune looks her over with a worried eye. “Pyrrha… you weren’t breathing. You need res–“

“Ozpin’s dead. The leader of this invasion will be here soon. Now. Tell me what’s going on.”

Jaune’s eyes widen. His mouth gapes opens, but instead of the torrent of questions she expects, he shakes his head, and seals his lips. Hard light shines through his blue eyes. Aura seeps out of his hands. For a second, she sees the boy she met in the Emerald Forest, the gangly teenager whose Aura lay locked inside.

That boy breathes for the last time when Jaune helps her to her feet.

“We had to retreat. Everyone’s in the ballroom. The airships are almost here.” He points down the hall, to the infirmary. “They’ll evacuate from the library roof. We need to buy them more tim–“

“OUT OF THE WAY!”

 

Weiss jumps past, held aloft by a series of spiraling snowflake glyphs, carrying a red-cloaked form. The Heiress’s dress is stained red. Loops of _something_ dangle from Ruby’s body – Weiss’s hands scrabble at Ruby’s waist, trying to push the loops back in.

Pyrrha closes her eyes, but the image lingers on her eyelids, interspersed with the loop of guts hanging from the mouth of Amber’s killer.

First Nora, now limp in the infirmary after a Nevermore feather speared her through. Then Cardin, transmuted into a Grimm. She may not have liked her classmate, but he didn’t deserve to go that way. Amber’s physical death, in the jaws of a monster. Many of her comrades lie dead outside Beacon’s walls, inches away from the walls that once served as their a haven. Now Ruby too, may die.

It isn’t fair.

Cold seeps through her corsair, an autumn wind caressing her breasts. Amber sheathes Pyrrha’s soul, like a sword sliding into a scabbard. For once, the former Fall Maiden doesn’t smell of rot or decay. It is not an insurrection, but an evolution born of two souls melding together. Amber is molded copper, protecting Pyrrha’s flesh, a sword for Pyrrha’s soul – Amber tastes of war, and a thousand battles, and a cry for blood – Pyrrha is the goddess given physical form, the wrath of the seasons walking the Earth- 

Winds wrap around Pyrrha’s form. She raises an arm wrapped in the ghosts of fallen leaves, and strides towards the ballroom’s doors.

“Pyrrha! Pyrrha, wait!”

 _Together, sister_ , Amber says, _let them know we are here._

Pyrrha nods as she walks past her stunned comrades and into the gore-painted courtyard.

A horde of Boarbatusks feasting on a fallen student suddenly turn to face her, eyes burning like hot coals.

No matter.

Pyrrha sends Akouo flying, flames swirling around the rim. It shears off the head of one Grimm – she beckons, and it comes racing back like a hunting dog to its master. The Grimm snarl and paw the ground, ready for a charge that never comes because she is there, a flurry of heaven’s fury destroying all that she touches. Milo dances through the air – xiphos one second, a spear the next – reaping black-furred monsters. She can faintly hear cheering, steel against claws, flesh tearing, ooze settling into the cobblestones and the clack-clack of her heels, but it matters no more.

She is Pyrrha Nikos and Amber Corusca, two souls united seamlessly in one body, and she is the Fall Maiden.

She storms forward, gusts of wind throwing off any Grimm imprudent enough to cross her path. Blood pulses through her ears. The old ones have awakened, and they demand a sacrifice.

If fall is the season of change, then she will be its harbinger.

She is the gale that shakes forests to their roots, and the deluge that brings tribulation. She is the blood red of Forever Fall, and the deep brown of a freshly-dug grave. She has existed long before this mortal body, and will exist long after the Grimm return man to dust.

 

It is time for a reckoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well… that was something. Now that this huge chunk of plot is over, we'll be back to your regularly scheduled Arkos by February.
> 
> (Also, I'm so sorry. I realized the writing is a bit forced: this installment will undergo heavy editing. S.S. Arkos must sail!)


End file.
